Buona Seras
by Badfaith Obviously
Summary: A small AU tale about the first impressions of Casimiro and Finas before they were vampires, based on Silveray's ideas.
1. Patience

Had the boy's presence really- intentionally- become more annoying- or was it just the repetition of this sequence of events?

It never changed: just like the dismal London weather, a mass of storm clouds hung over the situation, preventing any distinction like the travel of sailing ships.

A tap on the flat hard surface of a bent mahogany desk older than himself- it wasn't obnoxious at first but Finas knew that after a couple more harsh raps- five- seven- twenty- it began to alternately jar or numb the mind,  
and to prick at a nerve like the drag of a claw down the surface of his inner ear. This was the noise of the door swinging open, of the sing-song lilt in the Italian's voice as he wished him Good Evening in a language the Englishman couldn't understand, but he'd heard the greeting so many many times now he could say it in his sleep.

"_Buonasera_, Master Kenway"

He drew his hand into his hair for a moment, not even turning from his desk.

Here he was, and there- there_ he_ was on a cold indigo Sunday night, like just like every week before it, hauling a pile of small crates that reached high above his head in his strong, albeit reedlike arms.

Finas wondered how someone so thin could lift so much-but the question was dismissed almost immediately as he had first contemplated it. He did it for the same reason Finas, in all his unsuitability, did his father's accounting: because he had to. Who or what else could could the Italian possibly be  
suited for? It wasn't a question of wealth for Finas- the Kenway line had all that and more, for generations, but to let the businuess die while his father still lived? So he could go gallavanting off into the navy like he wanted? It was heresy. It was all a matter of patience. If there was one thing Finas took away from it all it was this: Patience was not only _a_ virtue, but also the most important.

In the corner of his eye the Italian was looking for a place to put the new crates, making a small (and irritatingly disappointed) clucking noise when he found that most of the ones he'd brought last week hadn't even been unpacked: a testament to the hopeless nature of the situation.

Despite his insistence, admittedly "delivery man" wasn't the first word Finas would have used for him the first moment he saw him. In fact, he wouldn't have been able to think of one word to describe him if pressed.

When the boxes had been slowly lifted down to the last clean space of floor in the office, the Italian's dark eyes snapped upward. They were a complete molten black, but they seemed to shine in the intelligent, greedy way that a raven's did when it spotted something shiny.

Finas always secretly wished he could punch him for looking at him, one of his betters, as if he were a morsel, but he would not hit a man for his nature, he had learned this degree of patience long ago.

The Italian didn't act as poor as he was- as he ought to have acted. He held his head high,and never stopped the mindless flow of chatter after Finas had relented and exchanged the greeting.

Finas had never known him to be anything other than infuriatingly chipper despite the obvious wear and tear on the same clothes he wore every week, despite the numerous bruises that bloomed with a certain finality on his dark cheek. Despite having presumablynothing at all except what menial funds Finas's father shelled out to him for doing menial labors, the Italian seemed infinitly more happy than he did.

And this, like everything about the other man, his voice, his mannerisms, the cocksure grin on his thin face, got on Finas's nerves.

It wasn't that Finas was always somber, it was perhaps that the Italian had started working here in the past few seasons when his relationship with his father was experiencing, for lack of a better word: strain.

Finas was happy in action, happy with the weight of a horse underneath him, happy hunting in the mountains accompanied by the pack of pure bred dogs whose ancestors had hunted with his great grandfather, and his great great grandfather. Racing over impossibly foggy hill country on his palomino mare, led only by the baying of the dogs who smelled more than they saw with their eyes. Finas admired a good dog.

But this was where the young man wasn't happy, wasn't anything resembling happy: doing paperwork for his father while the old man slept and slept, as he'd been doing so often recently. Having to habitually deal with cheek from a not only younger but considerably less important man.

But for all this he stuck with his old staple, his words half hidden by his sigh.

"Good evening Casimiro".

[How should I continue this guys? Please leave suggestions in the reviews! I seriously have no idea where to take this story.]


	2. Proposition

_"Good Evening Casimiro"._

"That took a while" said the Italian, leaning on one of small towers of crates.. "Doing a lot of thinking tonight, Master Kenway"? Two high arched eyebrows, so thin and expressive it reminded Finas of a woman's raised as his lips pursed in a barely contained smile. His eyes were liquid, heavilly lidded and contained mischief, chief among other things.

"Still working on those old accounts eh? I have to say when I spent all my efforts lugging these boxes here I expected them to be about a bit more than taking up space".

_He's so casual. Rude._ Thought Finas with a twitch of an eyebrow. And how was it that he could speak English well enough to abuse it so?

"You ought to know what I'm doing, I've been doing it every time we''ve met for the past year". he said with a grind of his teeth. But Finas kept his voice perfectly even.

"And forgive me if I'm wrong, but isn't your job only to haul the boxes here and be on your way? Not to stand around idily and wonder at their intended use"? It was a bit harsh, but the boy needed to be scolded for this type of unpleasant behavior.

The Italian's eyes did not change, at least not in the way Finas would've liked them to, in offense. Instead, if anything they'd gotten softer.

"Having a bad day again"? he said with a sickening amount of sympathy, like a friend, abandoning the tower and coming to loom a bit closer than Finas liked. He wasn't exactly lingering around the desk, but it was still too close. "Your papa still under the weather"?

"My day was fine" he assured Finas marveling at his own patience, so acutely practiced.  
"Or at least it was until this intrusion."

He paused but the Italian said nothing, he just continued to look at him, to see right through him.

"...I'll ask you not to comment on my father's health. He is certainly on the mend. Tell me Casimiro, don't you have something more pressing to do"?

Casimiro grinned at the effort to shoo him away. It was never that easy, however what he said next suprised Finas. "Sorry sir, but I intend to leave the island within the course of a few days and I simply can't delay the matter of my payment".

This made Finas frown and look up from his desk."Leave? You? Wait... Why are you leaving"?

Casimiro thumbed his collar "You wouldn't be interested, would you? It's a personal matter and it's got nothing whatsoever to do with the transport of boxes". He smirked "It'd be highly improper".

"Nevermind that man, just tell me, why...where to are you leaving"?

"Off to bigger and better things." said Casimiro vaguely with a nasty grin. "Did you think I'd be your delivery boy_ forever _Master Kenway".? Finas didn't like that grin, the way it spread too far over his face like a skull.  
"Cheek".

_Yes that's exactly what I thought._ Finas bit his lip in distaste. This was by far the longest conversation they had ever had, and Casimiro was turning out to be exactly what Finas thought he was. An utter _arse._

Now the repetition would end, and the nuisance that had plagued him for months would finally vanish. It should have been a good thing, nursing his father in his death in peace. So why did he feel like this? As if he had been somehow betrayed?"Not back home"? Finas said before he could stop himself.

"Home"? Casimiro echoed, the grin blessedly slidng off his face.

"Italy...I..presume"? Finas had never heard the young man actually say it , but he wasn't slow. The man spoke it and looked it, every inch the Italian.

Casimro responded with an open mouth laugh which was as condescending as it could possibly be... as though Finas were being terribly ignorant. The sound pinched his nerves. "You really are_ something_ Master Kenway".

"And what would that be"? Said Finas with a dangerous edge in his voice, straightening up a little, squaring his broad shoulders. He wasn't one for games.

"An old man at a desk" replied Casimiro with an astounding lack of shame. "And you've barely hit your twenties, haven't you? Not much older than me but _oh_ so complacent".

"Not only is my mental state none of your businuess" Finas replied hotly, begining to rise from his seat. "Your summary of it is completely wrong. I am by no means complacent."

"Why don't you tell me more about it then? Countered the younger boy, his back straightening. Finas was much bigger than he was, stronger, richer, more powerful in every way. But there was no trace of fear, only a kind of self satisfied burning in those eyes. "Your bad day".

"Why don't you get out of my fucking office." Finas replied. "I'd relieve you of your longstanding employment but given your iminent departure... it seems uncessary. Just _go_. I grow tired of you".

Casimiro tisked him, the sound seeming to slither between those clenching teeth. "You write me off so carelessly. Do you neglect to remember all the good times we've shared"? He blinked in a way he obviously though was endearing, but just ended up being rather horrible. "All those lonely winter nights with only eachother for company"!

"If by that you mean all the times you have inoccuously stared at me and laughed behind my back, then yes, I have neglected those fond recollections".

Casimiro smirked "Finas. The fact is I've been observing you for a long time, and you seem even more despondent than usual, which is quite painful to watch I might add. Is it your father's death or the chores he has left you with that ails you"? Finas took a step towards him but he didn't move.

"Or is the man himself?

Finas reacted with a swift, slamming blow to the chest, which knocked the Italian clean off of his feet. Finas did not in any way consider this a breach in his pact of patience, any one else in his family would've beat the Italian within an inch of his life. However the reaction proved completely unsatisfactory as there was no sign of submission or even a cease in the movement of Casimiro's jaw.

Finas's deep brow cinched in something like worry when he saw the Italian making odd spitting noises and rolling on the floor, cupping his face.

_Is he having some sort of fit or..._

_No. He's laughing again._

"FINALLY. Finally after all this time I get a reaction out of you. If I had known it was this easy, if all I had to do was mention your father then I would've ages ago. Would've given us a lot more time to prepare, you know".

Finas glared at him for a solid minuite, at first trying to summon up something venemous enough to say and then truly thinking about the strangeness of Casimiro's last statemement. "Um...prepare? Us"?

"For the _voyage_ my good man! I mentioned it earlier. Did you think I'd leave without you after all this time"?

"Perhaps I'm picking nits" said Finas quickly "But you seem to be under the impression that we have ... some sort of companionable relationship"

Casimiro raised his eyebrow high but didn't interupt Finas's acute explaination.

"I don't know where this idea came from, probably fancifully imagined after a long night of hard spirits, but I'd like to assure that it is in no way correct. I don't know you, and what I know of you I don't like. This is the longest conversation we've ever had. I don't go on voyages in the first place, at least not very often, and certainly not with complete strangers".

"I'm _not_ a stanger" Casimiro pointed out. "I'm your delivery boy. Was that is. Now I am your proffesional sailor, confidant and businuess partner". He puffed out his thin, rather unimpressive chest proudly. "and friend".

Finas was too stunned to speak for a moment, but thankfully before he could completely wrap his head around the ridiculousness of this wild assumption, especially the_ last,_ he heard a coughing, croaking keen from the back room. Finas's shoulders stiffened.

"I know I know" said Casimiro throwing his hands up "You'll need some time to digest this. And pack. Maybe say good bye even? Now I can't be too lenient with you Master Kenway, as our ship has a very stern departure time, but a few days of shore leave should be enough-"

"Now see here-" started Finas, twisting his head around angrilly.

"Have you ever thought" Casimiro interuppted him, his lean dark face was sober, his eyes taking on a mischevious glint that Finas liked even less than the grin.

"That perhaps dying was something your father should do _without_ your help"?

"FINAS"!

By the time Finas turned back around, the lanky lunatic was already halfway out the door. Later that night, after his father had sunken back into his miserable lethargy, Finas _still_ wasn't entirely sure what had happened to him.


End file.
